by Jaci J
There’s a long pause before they let me go, looking at each other, something I can’t understand passing between them.
They’re going to kill me.
I scramble up and away, toward the head of the bed.
I can’t get far enough away from them.
My breathing is harsh, my lungs burning. And my heart feels like it’s bursting at the seams.
One of them, the one with darker hair, walks toward the door, flicking on the light.
Blinking at the harsh light, I finally get a good look at them.
Disheveled and dirty, they’re disgusting. Deranged. Ill-fitted, holy and dirty clothes. The one with the lighter hair is covered in scabs and pock marks. The darker-haired one has sunken in eyes and a thin mustache.
They’re terrifying.
“What do you want?” I ask, looking at the one closest to me, the one covered in scabs. He’s holding a gun. It’s small and black, but still, it’s enough to kill me with.
He snickers. It’s the same laugh I remember from that night. The same careless, conceited sound. He’s heartless. “I want payback.”
“For what?” I whisper.
He jerks, lunging toward me. Snatching me up by my neck, he shoves my head into the wall. Drywall cracks and my head throbs. “For that motherfucker stepping in. You were mine. I saw you first.”
He makes no sense. I was never his. We’ve never even met, not before that night.
He’s high on something, his pupils dilated.
“I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what to say or how to feel. Everything inside of me is jumbled and messy. I’m scared. Worried. Nervous. Mad. Unsure. Terrified.
Putting my hand on my stomach, I say a silent prayer.
I don’t care what they do to me, I just want my baby safe and okay.
“You’re sorry,” he mocks, his voice rising. “You’re fucking sorry!”
Before I can say anything, do anything, he lunges, slamming my head into the wall, but this time, using his fist to do it.
Pain erupts in my face as he begins to hit me, again and again.
“You stupid fucking cunt, you’re fucking dead. I’ll fuck your ass then slit your throat.”
He continues to punch me until things start to fade, growing dark.
He hits me until the bedroom door flies open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.
Cruz
The dogs are barking, going wild when I pull up and get out of my truck, running toward the front door.
I know something’s wrong. I can fucking feel it.
The front door is open and the house is dark, aside from the porch light hanging above the door.
I’ve been through some shit in my life.
I’ve been stabbed, having my life flash before my eyes. I’ve been shot, watching the woman I love pray over my body. I’ve been in bad situations...hell, some really fucked up situations, but never, not once, was I scared.
I never fucking cared before.
I care now.
I’ve never been more fucking scared or cared more.
Jagger and Ryker are at my back, our guns drawn as I walk into my house. My own fucking house.
These fuckers are in my house, in our house, with my girl inside.
Knowing the layout, I work my way through, clearing the rooms.
Zane and Titus are outside, one around the back of the house, and the other at the front.
My heart’s in my throat, but my goddamn anger is through the roof.
I’ll kill those motherfuckers. That’s a fucking promise.
The house is quiet until I hear the floorboards upstairs groan, followed by a loud thud.
Fuck.
Taking off up the stairs, I head for my room—our room.
The door’s closed.
It only takes me one fucking second to kick it in, and when I do, I’m hit with a wave of blind rage.
Mia’s crumpled on the bed, with two soon-to-be dead motherfuckers standing over her.
Her head’s in her hands and there’s blood.
Fucking blood.
Blood!
I feel fucking crazy.
Murder, that’s the only goddamn thing I can think of.
I don’t say anything. I don’t ask questions. I don’t give chances.
I shoot.
The first one goes down when a bullet rips through his chest. He falls hard, hitting the floor in a pool of his own blood. The other one comes at me, knife swinging.
Stupid motherfucker.
He takes a couple of swipes, missing. Cleary he’s fucking high, thinking he’s Superman when he lowers his head and runs at me.
I shoot the asshole right in the head.
His head snaps back stiffly, and for a moment he doesn’t move, stuck upright, until his body weight gives way and he falls.
There’s blood everywhere. On the floor. The ceiling. The walls. On me, and on my fucking girl.
She’s bleeding and she needs me.
I start to panic.
“Get her the fuck outta here,” Ryker growls, coming into the room behind Jagger, looking around at the carnage.
I don’t hesitate.
Putting a knee on the bed, I go for Mia.
I’ve never been more scared in my life.
Her face is bloody and she’s not moving.
And for a fucking second, neither am I. I can’t fucking move. Hovering over her, I’m not sure where to touch her.
I don’t want to hurt her any more than she already is.
My life flashes before my eyes.
Her life.
My life.
The baby’s life.
Our fucking life together.
Gone.
“Angel?” I groan, my voice thick, gritty. I can hear the tremor in my words. I’m fucking fighting with my emotions, close to losing control. “Baby?”
I touch her and she moans, her head rolling to the side, toward my touch.
“Fuck,” Zane shouts, coming into the room.
Her eyes are black and blue, her face swollen and red.
My gut clenches when I hear her voice. “Cruz?”
“I’m here, baby, I’m here.”
She reaches for me, just as I reach for her.
Sliding my arms around her body, I pick her up.
It breaks my fucking heart seeing her so broken and hurt.
I should’ve been here to take the brunt, to take it all.
Mia
I don’t remember Cruz coming home. All I remember is him picking me up, me feeling weightless and out of my body, his arms around me, and finally feeling like I was safe. A feeling of comfort. A feeling of being home.
I remember him putting me in his truck and driving me to the hospital, remember him shouting at people, holding me, his voice loud and panicked.
But I could hear his heart with my ear pressed to his chest.
Laying in the hospital bed, four days later, I stare at the ceiling.
My head throbs, feeling like a deflated balloon. My eyes feel heavy and gritty. It’s the light, the air in hospital. It’s too much.
Cruz is outside my hospital room. I can hear him talking, his voice low and gruff.
He’s pissed.
I don’t know who he’s talking to, but I wish he’d just stop and come back in here. There’s nothing else to do at this point and I want to go home.
Rubbing my stomach, I sigh, looking at the monitor the baby and I are hooked up to.
It beeps away.
There’s a heartbeat, steady and strong.
I listen to it like it’s my favorite song.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Tears well up in my eyes just thinking about what happened.
The way he grabbed me, hands around my neck, banging my head against the wall. Hitting me. The horrible things he said.
I was scared, terrified, and not just for myself, but for my baby, and that was the worst part—being scared for someone I couldn’t hold, c
ouldn’t touch, couldn’t see. There was nothing I could do but fight back and pray.
It’s over.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turn when the door opens and Cruz walks in.
He’s antsy, agitated. Pacing.
I just want to go home. “Take me home, Cruz,” I whisper, sitting up and putting my legs over the edge of the bed.
Stopping mid-pace, he looks at me. “Angel, get back in bed.”
His face is full of worry as he rushes over to me.
I’m fine.
I’ve been fine. I’ve been fine the four days I’ve been here.
“I want to go home.” My voice if firmer as I get out of the bed, holding up my hand to stop him from putting me back in it.
I feel like shit, but I want to feel like shit at home.
“Baby, take me home,” I demand, giving him my best serious face. It comes out more of a pathetic whine, though.
I know he’s worried about me, but I’m fine. As fine as I’m going to be.
He’s so serious. So worried. So crazy. I can’t help the smile that lights up my face. Although its swollen and bruised, I give it a try. He loves me.
“Baby, huh?” he asks, a brow quirked. “Trying a new tactic there, Angel?”
I rub my belly. “Yes. If it gets me home, I’ll try anything. ”
Cruz scrubs at his scruffy cheek, clearly fighting with something. His words, maybe? “The house has been fixed.”
He means the blood has been cleaned up. “Oh.”
“We changed everything.”
“Everything?”
“The drywall, the floor, new bed, mattress. Everything, baby.”
“Cruz,” I groan, closing my eyes.
“You want to move instead?”
I don’t know what my face looks like, but I’m sure it looks like something out of a horror movie. “What? No, I love that goddamn house. You can’t fucking sell it.”
Throwing his head back, he looks up at the ceiling. “And now she’s fired up and cussin’,” he says to himself, head behind his head, fingers laced. “I’m not sellin’ the house. I’m not doin’ anything you don’t want me to.”
“Good,” I mutter, tugging on my stupid hospital gown. “Where are my pants?” I ask, going for the small dresser in the corner.
“In the top drawer.”
It’s a struggle to make it far with all the lines and cords I’m hooked up to. In fact, I make it nowhere. I end up back on the bed, on my ass, Cruz crouched down in front of me with my pants in his hands.
“Up,” he grunts, tapping my leg.
I give him my leg and he dresses me.
“You’re sweet,” I tell him, laughing when he shimmies my leggings up my thighs and over my plump ass.
“And you’re lucky we’re in a hospital or I’d be between these thighs, tasting that pussy.”
I blush. I can feel the heat in my cheeks.
I’m pregnant by the guy, and he still makes me freaking blush.
Cruz
“Go away,” Mia laughs, waving me off with a flick of her little hand. She’s pointing at the door, frowning.
I can’t go away. I can never fucking go away.
I’m here.
Forever.
“Can’t,” I huff, leaning back against the sink, getting comfortable.
She rolls her eyes. Her black eyes. “I’m taking a shower. I’ll be fine.”
Mia will be fine. She’ll be fine because she’s never leaving my goddamn sight again. Her or the baby. Everywhere they go, I go.
Watching her shower, water running down her naked body, I realize I don’t want to fuck her right now. I might later, but right now, I just want to watch her. Watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. Watch her laugh, cry, smile. Watch her sleep. Watch her eat. Watch her watch me. I just want to fucking know she’s okay.
“Cruz,” she says softly, hands running up and down her body, washing herself. “I’m okay.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still in here?”
“It’s how I know you’re okay.”
I feel fucking insane for being this way, because this isn’t me. I don’t do this shit. But I do now. I do this shit because I fucking love Mia.
She nods, not saying anything more.
She gets it.
She lets me watch her, content with my overprotective nature.
I TRAIL HER INTO THE bedroom, the room I had torn apart and gutted.
“Wow,” she breathes, looking at the room, then over her shoulder at me. “You even rearranged it.”
She’s goddamn right I did. After what happened in here, I had to. Everything had to be changed, for her and for me. Not a chance I was getting any sleep in a room that almost cost me the love of my goddamn life.
Mia runs her hand across the bed, touching the wood frame.
She’s lost in it all, taking everything in, and what I’m doing is stewing, feeling like I fucking let her down.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, meaning it. I mean it more than I’ve probably meant anything in my life.
Mia looks at me, confused. “Why are you sorry? For changing the room?”
“I’m sorry for leaving you alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when they came for me.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at me. There’s a million emotions on her face, and none of them I understand.
“Don’t be sorry.”
That’s fucking funny. Don’t be sorry? “I’ll be sorry every day for the rest of my life.”
“I’m okay,” she tells me for the millionth time, putting her hand on my chest and looking up at me.
But things could have been worse. So much fucking worse.
She’s my brave girl, but she’s putting on a good front, because there’s no way that shit didn’t change her. “Are you, though?”
Walking around me and to the dresser, she opens it, saying toward the wall, “Maybe not, but I will be.”
She won’t look at me.
“I fucking worry about you.”
Holding a pair of green panties, she frowns at me. “And I fucking worry about you.”
“I’m good. I got you and that’s all I fucking need.”
Mia smiles that fucking smile. That shit is the light of my goddamn life. “And I’ve got you and that’s all I need.”
Mia
“Hey, Mama,” Jagger greets, throwing an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug. Reaching down, he rubs my belly, laughing. “Gettin’ big, sweetheart.”
Rolling my eyes, I swat away his hand. “Don’t tell a pregnant lady that shit.”
“You’re a sexy as fuck pregnant lady if that makes you feel better.”
It does, but I won’t tell him that. I’ve been feeling a little less sexy these last few weeks. My body is expanding, and it’s not just my chest. My ass, hips, and waist have grown double. Nothing fits me anymore, and I refuse to invest in clothes I’ll only wear for a few months.
Hearing him tell me I’m sexy helps. Tremendously.
“Thank you,” I laugh, trying to school my smile.
“So how you been?” he asks me, sitting down and pulling me into his knees. If any other man pulled me onto his lap I’d kick him in the nuts, but this is Jagger. The ladies’ man. The troublemaker. Mr. Fun Time.
“I’m good, Santa,” I tease, looking up at him.
“Ho, ho, ho,” he laughs.
“I’m good, Jagger. How’ve you been?”
He gives me a knowing look, a look that says he knows more than I’ve told him. “You know I’m good, sweetheart.” He glances over at the pretty blonde standing next to Zane and my man, his eyes going soft.
He’s into her.
I’m into her.
She’s beautiful. She’s sweet. She’s got a banging body.
I’m jealous.
And it’s not even her fault. She’s genuinely sweet. I’m just unbelievably self-conscious right now.
“Don’t do that shit,” Jagger grunts, head shaking.
“Do what?”
“Compare yourself. You’re just as fuckin’ hot.”
I try not to blush, and I try not to let it go to my head, but it does. “Thank you.
“Don’t thank me, Mia. It’s the fuckin’ truth.”
In the last few months, I’ve spent a lot of time with Cruz’s brothers, his club. They’re amazing. They’re the family I’ve never really had.
“So who is she?” I ask him, watching her lean into Zane. She’s smiling, laughing about something.
Jagger leans back in his chair, frowning. “Just a friend.”
She’s more than that to him.
I don’t push my luck with questions.
We’re having a little barbeque. Jagger, Zane, Ryker, Titus, and a few of the Disciple’s heads from out of town are here, and they’ve brought friends. Friends that wear short skirts and not much else.
Sitting with Jagger, I watch a pretty redhead walk up to Cruz, her hand on his forearm.
This is the first time in months that Cruz has left my side, the first time in weeks he hasn’t been within arm’s length.
I’m not sure I like it.
The redhead stands right next to him, her chest rubbing on his arm.
I trust Cruz. I really do.
But I can’t watch this shit.
Getting up, Jagger grabs my hand, stopping me. “What’s up? You okay?”
If I tell him I’m feeling uncomfortable about Cruz, as crazy as it is, he’ll stop me, tell me I’m being insane, and I probably am, but right now, I’m not feeling it.
“To pee,” I say, knowing he won’t have anything to say about it.
He lets me go.
But I don’t get far.
Arms wrap around me from behind, hands on my belly.
“Angel,” Cruz growls, his lips on my ear. “Where you goin’?”
He was watching me, like always.
There’s no point in lying, Cruz will know.
“I’m not sure. I just couldn’t watch that woman rub up on you,” I tell him honestly, turning in his arms and looking up at his handsome face—a face that doesn’t look very happy.
“Are you feeling jealous?” he questions, his dark eyes narrowed.
